


Close Enough

by TawnyOwl95



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: Oh my god they held hands, and then set fire to an alleyway.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 244
Collections: Ineffable Kinktober 2020





	Close Enough

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at one of the Ineffable Kinktober prompts by Quefish. Kind of shape shifting. Kind of.
> 
> Also an extended version of Worth the Wait which I wrote for the GO Events server after dark challenge. This includes those original 500 words though.

They can count on one hand the times they’ve touched.

The nudge of eyes when the other is distracted don’t count. Scents aren’t worth mentioning: they change with fashion and preferences.

Awareness of soft unfurling grace, or the slither of obsidian scales are also par for the course.

They know what each other look like.

Touch is different. Touch awakens something dangerous. It’s harder to justify. Brushes of fingertips over a bag of books, a tartan flask. More recently a clasp of hands on a park bench. Each transference of heat and matter is a hoarded treasure. A risk. 

That bench is behind them and the world stretches out in front. The backs of their hands brush. They walk on. Their fingers touch. Aziraphale reminisces as they leave the garden, but he doesn’t move away. If anything he moves closer, pointing across Crowley at something interesting. Fingers nudge together, become entangled. They walk on. Neither of them mention it because words make secrets real.

This secret isn't quite ready to be spoken. 

They’re palm to palm now. Aziraphale stops talking. Crowley wishes he would start again, anything to distract from his anxiety. He does not hold on tighter because that never works with Aziraphale. They walk like the world hasn't almost ended, that it may be ending again, just a little bit, in the too loud thud of a demon’s heart and the smile that an angel always fails to hide.

They exchange a furtive sideways acknowledgement.

Crowley breaks first.

London is full of alleyways. This one may always have been there, or it may have been startled into existence because it was needed.

Crowley doesn’t push Aziraphale against the wall, but he faces him and lifts their joined hands. He looks in wonder at his long, spindly fingers resting between pale, sturdier ones. Their eyes meet. A question and consent. Crowley dips his head and his tongue flickers over Aziraphale’s knuckles, tasting skin-salt and celestial sweetness. Aziraphale gasps and it vibrates between realities as he fills Crowley up with love and desire. Crowley's skin is too tight, his trousers are definitely too tight. 

"Easy."

Aziraphale pulls back, but he keeps his free hand in Crowley's hair. Growing braver he drags his nails over Crowley's scalp. Crowley whines, fighting to keep his rush of need in this dimension. Aziraphale's breath quickens. 

The ether surrounding them throbs. 

As Crowley straightens up Aziraphale’s fingers drift from his head to his cheek. They leave a tingling glow that slowly fades. Crowley palms Aziraphale’s jaw, grips the back of his neck. Their foreheads come together so that even their breath touches. Their gazes lock tight over the rims of Crowley's shades. Their hands are squashed between their hearts.

“Crowley, what if we can’t stop?”

“Then we don’t stop.”

“Not ever?”

“Somewhere else you need to be, angel?”

"The Ritz?" said with a bastard smile. 

Crowley laughs.

Aziraphale laughs too, but the line of his shoulders are tense. His eyes slightly wild.

Their laughter fades and dies. Aziraphale tilts his head, his nose nudging Crowley's. 

“How long will that table stay free, do you think?" Crowley's voice trembles. 

"Oh, exactly as long as we need it to, I believe."

Crowley swallows. Nods. Aziraphale edges forward. Lips touch. Mouths open. The ether crackles. It’s not close enough. 

Crowley's back hits the alley wall. For a moment his feet didn't touch the ground. Aziraphale's hands are everywhere, grasping and clutching. His fingers push beneath Crowley's jacket, beneath his skin and into the meat of him. 

Aziraphale is everywhere and it’s still not enough. 

Crowley groans into the kiss, into the complete surrounding of him. He's thoroughly overpowered and craves more. 

He tugs at Aziraphale's shoulders, uncoiling to make room for Aziraphale in the dark parts of his being. Desperate to be lit up by that sweet ethereal brightness. 

In one plane of existence Aziraphale grips Crowley's thighs, lifts him so Crowley's legs wrap around his waist. 

In another two stars collide. The notes of their separate songs merging, sliding into harmony together. They push closer. 

Aziraphale always knew that if he ever let himself taste Crowley, even just once, he'd get lost in the cool, clean dark of him. Wrap himself up in Crowley's presence like a blanket of night and never really find his way out. 

Ever since they switched appearances he's been craving the blessed release of it, like a creature lost in the desert. 

Now he's lost. It's beautiful. Glorious. _Hallelujah._

_Did you just…?_ Crowley doesn't use his mouth. It's currently busy. 

_Hush, fiend._

Aziraphale rolls his hips, causing Crowley's head to fall back. Crowley's laughing again. Mad unbridled joy. 

The friction of their mortal bodies moving together is only the tip of it. Crowley's got his fangs in Aziraphale now, his snake body wrapping round him tight, but he's never felt so split open or so exposed. He wants to get closer.

Aziraphale can see everything, and Crowley doesn't want to hide anymore. He can see everything too. Taste Aziraphale on his tongue. Every nuance of him. The sweet and the bitter, and the burned. The vibration of Aziraphale's song shakes Crowley's bones. It's going to burst him into shards. 

_Angel. You perfect angel._

It shouldn't be possible for spinning wheels of fire to blush, but it is and it's adorable. 

_Beautiful serpent_

Crowley is. Each scale a glittering black star. Smooth, dry and warmed deliciously by Aziraphale's own heat. Aziraphale burns brighter for the delight of seeing Crowley bask. 

They're pressed against the core of each other now, the pulsing fluttering centres of themselves. As close as they can be and closer still.

_Yes_

_Oh, yes!_

They push together. Become entangled. Closer, deeper, harder. 

Aziraphale cries out. A single note of pure divine ecstasy. 

Crowley groans. He pulses and writhes his pleasure. His tears are like frozen jewels clinging to his cheeks. 

The two of them drop like a comet. Lights blazing. 

In the alley, the upper story windows above them blow outwards and twinkling shards of glass rain down slowly. 

They crash back into their bodies. Crowley blinks, suddenly bereft. Aziraphale's face is pressed into his neck. The angel gasps inwards as he remembers how to breathe. 

_I've got you._ Crowley's thoughts are sluggish, but he can still appreciate the irony of thinking that while being the one held up. 

Aziraphale doesn’t lift his head, but his breathing is coming back to normal. “Did we just…?”

“In an alleyway. Yes. Yes. We did.”

Aziraphale moves, dares to peek at the sprinkling of broken glass and several bin bags that are on fire. “Crumbs.” A distracted click of Aziraphale's fingers sets things back to rights. 

Aziraphale lets Crowley's legs down. Human muscles weren't supposed to stay in that position for so long though and Crowley feels the ache as his body is compelled to move. He doesn't entirely let go of Aziraphale though. He can't stand to acknowledge that they are two separate entities again. 

If anything they are now holding each other tighter and closer than they did before. 

Aziraphale sways towards Crowley, grips his hand. 

“It's alright. I've got you.” Crowley says it again. Swipes the tears from Aziraphale's eyes with his thumb. 

His eyes are leaking too. Who'd have thought human bodies could leak so much. 

Aziraphale's tongue darts out sweeping Crowley's tears away. They stay with their noses touching, breath mingling.

“We should probably… “ Crowley waves his arm, encompassing all the many things that are not holding Aziraphale in a London alleyway. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says with his mouth.

 _In a moment,_ he adds with his mind, his body, his heart. 

They drift back together until they are just close enough. 

Eventually they return to the London crowds. Still resolutely holding hands, they walk on. 


End file.
